Window on Europe

Every weekend, tourists stream toward the Church of the Sign of the Most Holy Mother of God* in Dubrovitsy, a village outside Moscow. Usually they are intercepted by a female acolyte, who takes them on a quick walk around the church's extraordinary gray tower, sharing intriguing facts from the history of the area's main attraction.

After pointing out the intricate spirals of stone molding that cover virtually the entire exterior of the structure, as well as the sculpted figures that adorn its exterior and interior surfaces (apostles, saints, and cherubim with the implements of Christ's passion), she announces that nowhere else on earth can such a miracle be found. Often, just when the tour guide's inspired narration is reaching its climax, a woman from the regional museum appears, an atheist and expert on local history, to the consternation of the Orthodox acolyte. Antonina Kolosova is a historian of the Soviet persuasion with no patience for talk of miracles. When she gives a tour, she takes pleasure in deconstructing popular myths.

Indeed, it was not miracles that fashioned the intricate molding or monumental sculptures of saints that seem so out of place among the region's other houses of worship, although to the European eye there is nothing terribly surprising about the church's design. But even Kolosova admits that the Dubrovitsy church is absolutely unique, both in terms of its architectural details and its history.

Peter the Great was present for the laying of the church's foundation. He was only 18 and had been sole ruler of Russia all of a year. Back then, there was no St. Petersburg, the famous window on Europe, but here, among Moscow's suburban forests, this little window had already appeared, one of the earliest examples of Naryshkin Baroque, a style that fused patriarchal traditions with the Westernized tastes of Peter's era. The church was completed in 1699.

One feature that sets the Church of the Sign apart from other Baroque masterpieces is that it is made entirely of local stone. In Petrine Russia, churches were usually built of brick, and “white stone” was used only for ornamentation – bountiful and whimsical spirals, scrolls, reliefs, ornate cornices and other flourishes. The Dubrovitsy church was built with limestone (what Russians fondly refer to as “white stone”), in this case excavated from the banks of the Pakhra and Desna Rivers, at the picturesque confluence of which the church stands.

An extraordinarily soft rock with an exquisite pearl-gray hue, local limestone was ideally suited for carving strikingly innovative – and glaringly foreign – ornaments and patterns, not to mention the sculptures positioned on the church's corners and roof, casting fantastical evening shadows and creating a mystical aura of the sort Orthodoxy liked to accuse Catholicism of cultivating.

Who was it that planted the seeds of Western architecture in the lands outside Moscow? These seeds may have taken the form of uvrazhi (from the French ouvrage) – architectural plans drawn up by European masters that made their way to Russia through Peter's progressive protégés, one of whom was Boris Alexeyevich Golitsyn, the owner of the Dubrovitsy estate. However, no hard evidence that such plans played a part in the history of the church has been found. This possibility is just one that has been pursued to explain how such an odd-looking (to the Russian eye) church wound up being built amidst a pine forest at the confluence of two tributaries of the Moscow River. The architect is unknown, as are the names of the builders, but most historians tend to believe that foreigners – perhaps Italians, perhaps Poles, Swedes, Germans, or others – were directly involved in constructing this masterpiece.

A brochure about the history of the Dubrovitsy estate authored by Antonina Kolosova and R.P. Fyodorova states that most of the church's ornamental elements had never appeared in Russian art before, attesting to contributions by sculptors belonging to the most varied schools. According to Kolosova and Fyodorova, the tension conveyed by the gesticulating figures and the abundance of Baroque folds in their garments suggest an “Italian spirit,” while “a certain heaviness of the figures reveals features of the German Catholic style,” “an embellished, rusticated, monumental base achieved through special techniques lend the church French nuances,” and “stylistic features of the interior reliefs point to the masters of the Dutch school.” The figures of the apostles “roughly hewn from blocks of material” differ somewhat from other, more finely wrought sculptures, leading to the assumption that they were the work of serf artists belonging to the estate's owner.

The church was clearly the brainchild of Prince Boris Golitsyn, one of the most prominent grandees of the time and a man who played a major role in placing young Peter on the throne. Golitsyn held pro-Western views, spoke several foreign languages, and had a penchant for brandishing Latin quotes. He served as the young tsarevich's tutor and in 1689 was intimately involved in the battle against the Naryshkins, Peter's chief rivals for the throne. As a result of court intrigues, Golitsyn temporarily fell out of favor, however he was not estranged from his former mentee for long. As a token of reconciliation the prince decided to build the church. In response, Peter offered, “Although you are a rich man, I will use the treasury to help.”

The church was presumably dedicated to the icon of the Sign of the Most Holy Mother of God because of its significance as a symbol of reconciliation. The idea of building a European-style church, rather than a typical Russian one, and sumptuously topping it with a golden crown, instead of a cupola, was, undoubtedly, motivated by politics.

Kolosova informs visitors that the crown was intended to “symbolize the close relationship between Golitsyn and the tsar,” a fact that the acolyte does not mention in her tours, reporting simply that “Peter the Great himself!” attended the church's consecration. This is true: Peter the Great did travel to Dubrovitsy for this grand event. It is surprising that the consecration took place only in 1704, five years after construction was completed. Some try to explain this puzzling lapse with the notion that Golitsyn so wanted Peter – who was busy fighting the Swedes – to be present for the blessing that he waited until the tsar was able to find the time for a visit.

A more likely explanation has to do with the intransigence of the Russian Orthodox Church. It is known that Patriarch Andrian refused to bless this foreign-looking structure, asserting at one point “I don't bless Catholic churches.” Only after Andrian's death and the appointment of a new patriarch, Stefan Yavorsky, did the Sign of the Most Holy Mother of God Church officially become an Orthodox house of worship.

“In our church we see details not typical of an Orthodox church, but at the same time, for example, there is a marvelous iconostasis created by icon painters from Moscow's Kremlin, in the tradition of Russian art of the late eighteenth century,” explains Father Andrei, the church's priest. He tells us that the church's icons are the work of pupils of the great Russian icon painter Simon Ushakov. Inside, purely Russian style coexists alongside Western features, but “as far as holding services here goes, as an Orthodox priest, I don't have any problems,” he says. “This doesn't bother me.”

One of Father Andrei's predecessors, Sergei Romanovsky, who presided over the church in the late eighteenth century, was so impressed by the church's architecture that he wrote a book about it, the first to tell the story behind its construction and describe its appearance. This work later enabled the restoration of Latin inscriptions in the church's interior devoted to the passion of Christ – another aspect of this church that makes it unique and of great interest to contemporary scholars. In the mid-nineteenth century, when the church was being restored, the original Latin inscriptions were replaced with quotes from the gospels in Church Slavonic on orders from Moscow's Metropolitan Filaret. For example, this Latin verse:

Hora nona Jesus quum omnia consummavit,
Forte clamans spiritum Patri сommendauit.
Latus ejus lancea miles perforauit,
Turba tunc contremuit et sol obscurauit
At the ninth hour, Jesus achieved salvation.

Crying out with a loud voice he entrusted his spirit to God.
A soldier pierced his side with a spear,
Whereupon the crowd was seized with trembling and the sun
was darkened.
was replaced with the following inscription in Church Slavonic:
And they brought him to the place called Golgotha...
And it was the third hour when they crucified him...
And about the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice...
And yielded up his spirit” (Mark 15:22, 25; Matt. 27:46:50).

Apparently, Metropolitan Filaret felt that Latin inscriptions had no place in an Orthodox church, which makes a certain sense, since services here are conducted in another language and the faithful simply would not be able to comprehend Latin. Nevertheless, in 2004 the Latin inscriptions were restored based on Father Sergei Romanovsky's notations. Without question, the original inscriptions are of significant historical and cultural value.

The Dubrovitsy church's magnificent yet modest gray tower has been the focus of ongoing battles among the faithful and between adherents and opponents of Christianity. In 1931 the church was almost destroyed at the hands of the Bolsheviks, who blew up the bell tower (a separate annex that was added in the late eighteenth century). How did it transpire that the church itself survived? We do not know for sure, but perhaps miracles cannot be ruled out.

After the revolution, a museum of local history was opened on the Dubrovitsy estate. In 1927 it was shut down, and the building was handed over to a state farm. The church was being used as an informal warehouse and was rapidly falling apart, especially its delicate and ornate façade. While not prone to internal cracking, which would endanger the integrity of the structure as a whole, limestone is highly vulnerable to damage from weather and pollutants and can erode over time.

In the 1990s the church began to be restored, but it was not until the early 2000s that it was discovered that the basement had been holding water for a long time, and moisture was undermining the structure inside and out. Today there is talk of a full-fledged renovation, and the first task is dealing with moisture. Until this problem can be adequately addressed, efforts to restore the fretwork iconostasis have been suspended, according to the church's official website. The standing water is a breeding ground for “colonies of harmful bacteria” that damage the white stone and are extremely harmful to the carvings, sculptures, and the overall health of the building.

According to the church website (located at dubrovitsy-hram.ru), “In 2009 efforts were undertaken to reinforce the church's foundation and restore two white stone wings, but there are insufficient funds to restore the church's deteriorating portico.”

The Catholic and Orthodox churches have been at odds for more than a millennium, ever since the East-West Schism of 1054. Built a half century after Patriarch Nikon's 1653 reforms caused a schism in the Russian Orthodox Church itself, and two decades after the ban on depicting saints in sculpture,** the Sign of the Most Holy Mother of God Church might be the first distant harbinger of ecumenism on Russian soil.

Grass and bluebells used to grow up through the church's steps. Now these steps are new and white, in sharp contrast with the rest of the structure. The professional researcher and her amateur Orthodox historian colleague sigh in unison as they show their tour groups the makeshift covering that has been put in place to protect the basement from precipitation. Worry over the future of the Dubrovitsy church is their common headache.

Everyone, regardless of religious beliefs, should share their concern. Like any unique thing of beauty, the Sign of the Most Holy Mother of God Church is a treasure that should be saved for posterity. RL

One feature that sets the Church of the Sign apart from other Baroque masterpieces is that it is made entirely of local limestone excavated from the banks of the Pakhra and Desna Rivers. Yet limestone is highly vulnerable to damage from weather and pollutants and can erode over time.

* Церковь Знамения Пресвятой Богородицы в Дубровицах

** The Holy Synod formally banned the sculptural depiction of saints only in 1722, but since such depictions were long a part of Catholic tradition, the Orthodox Church never encouraged them.